


The Facial

by Cheriluvs10



Category: Fleetwood Mac (Band)
Genre: Gen, Humor, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheriluvs10/pseuds/Cheriluvs10
Summary: Richard Dashut POV. Based on a photo Richard posted, Stevie decides one day to try giving Richard a mud pack facial.





	The Facial

A/N: This short story is based on a photo Richard posted on his Facebook page that inspired me to make up a story about it. Enjoy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I can't believe I'm doing this. Honestly, I end up in the middle of the craziest shit. And it seems like every day the band thinks up new things to subject me to. 

Case in point. Yesterday, Stevie got it into her head that I have crappy skin and I'm in desperate need of a facial. I'm in need of many things, a well deserved break, a good stiff drink, a bong. But I definately do not need a facial.

But once Stevie gets an idea in her head, it's next to impossible to dislodge it from her mind. So she brought in some blue goop in a white jar that she refers to as a mud pack. Great. I'm gonna have mud smeared all over my face to clean up my face. What is it with women and their insane beauty treatments?

Worst of all, Caillat is enjoying this immensely. He's sitting next to me at the console with a huge grin on his face. Damn, I knew I shoulda never started calling him Cutlass. I shoulda known payback would come sooner or later for that snide little nickname I gave em.

So now Stevie is standing over me while I sit in my chair, jar in hand as she prepares to slather me with goop, all in the name of clearing up my skin. Or maybe my best friend just wants me to be the laughing stock of the studio.

Ken leans forward eagerly in his chair while Stevie unscrews the lid.   
I peer in to the jar and my eyes boggle. Blue! The shit is blue! Who the fuck ever heard of blue mud? And Stevie wants to put this on my face? Hell no! I'm not looking like a goddamn blueberry!

Ken is throughly enjoying this now as Stevie ignores my protests and smears the blueberry mud shit all over my face. The stuff feels disgusting and again I wonder why women subject themselves to this, presumably every day. Do they really think men find this sexy? Come to think of it actually, they don't. i got that firsthand from Lindsey when I lived with them. There was no bigger turnoff for him than seeing Stevie coming at him with mud all over her face. And now I completely understand because I'm sure I look like a nightmare to the entire studio.

And now that the mud has been applied, Ken the Asshole is calling everyone over because he wants to make sure they get a good look at me. Was humiliation what Stevie was going for when she decided to do this? Because if so, she succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. Everyone except me is laughing and giggling and nudging each other. Thanks, Stevie. I really needed this for my so-so self esteem.

And duh duh duhduh duh daaaa. It's Mick with his trusty poloroid camera, immortilizing this moment for all time. Great. Something to show the grandkids I guess. Look, everyone, Papaw had a facefull of mud once. That beats playing with an Atari, don't it? Or whatever futuristic thing kids will be playing with by the time I have any. I'll probably be dead and gone by then. Most likely by blue mud poisoning.

The hell? This gunk is hardening and feels like its shrinking. Great. The stuff is going to crush my head in. A combination facial treatment, torture device and execution method. No wonder Stevie's tougher than she looks. She's survived repeated attempts of having her head crushed in like a walnut by blueberry mud shit.

Hmm, the poloroid has finished drying now and Mick shows it to me. In most photos I am smiling, easygoing, happy-go-lucky, goofing off. Not here. Here I am giving Mick and the camera a look of death, my face blue like I'm a clown suffering from hyperthermia.   
After making sure I saw it, Mick snatches it away and the photo gets passed around, giggled at and commented on. As if we have nothing better to do today.

And the facial? 

In my opinion, did not a damn thing. Although Stevie swears that my pores are clean and open now. Whoopie. Coulda done that with water and a good bar of soap and not looked like an idiot.

Ah well. Such is life when you work for Fleetwood Mac. I suppose if my face being caked with blue mud is the worst thing to happen to me amid all the chaos of this recording session, I'll consider myself one lucky bastard indeed.

But fun and pore clensing is finished, it's back to work.  
If only I can just get Caillat to stop laughing like a hyena.

THE END.


End file.
